Is it just me, or are ants? some of the most disgusting creatures known to man?? Second, of course, to cockroaches.? I mean, I don’t mind seeing an ant here or there when I’m out and about.? And yes, I get that ants are amazing—they’re strong, organized, and cooperative.? In fact, they’d probably? fare better in the corporate world than most humans.? ? But there are rules.? And I draw the line when the little? bastards sneak? into my home for a morning snack.? Then, amazing or not, they must die.

So, I? stumble downstairs this morning, into the kitchen, and there they are.? Dozens and dozens of ants, crawling all over our counters, in our sink, on the floor, and on the sliding glass door, where they’ve apparently snuck in.? (By the way, my computer is telling me that “snuck” isn’t actually a word.? Are you kidding me?? Who the heck uses “sneaked”, anyway?)

Hubby was down here earlier this morning.? He keeps his keys and wallet on the kitchen counter.? Did he notice any ants?? Of course not.? Most hubbies, as you may have realized by now, have a great knack for tunnel-vision.? If it’s not a snack, a golf club,? or a completely unnecessary and useless electronic gadget, then it might as well be invisible.? Our phone conversation goes something like this:

Me:? “Yes. Ants.? You know,those little six-legged black insect things that like it when you leave PEANUT SHELLS ALL OVER THE FLOOR??” (Voice rising again, most likely loud enough for the neighbors to hear.? The ones that live three blocks away.)

Him:? “Peanut Shells?”

Sigh.? The next step, of course, is to kill the little suckers with my non-toxic dishwashing liquid and water spray.? That part, at least, goes as planned.

Then the clean up.? After wiping up as many dead bugs as I can possibly find (yum), I head to the garage(always a scary undertaking, at our house) for the vacuum.? I get super excited at first, because I could see the vacuum right off the bat.? For once, I thought, I’d escape from the garage unscathed.? No searching under totaled cars that should’ve been enjoying a view at the dumpster for the last year, no getting bombed by precariously balanced pieces of junk.? No getting blown up by fireworks.? Or eaten by a rat.?

I should have known better.? ? Because as? I get closer to the vacuum, I do a double take.? Something appears to be missing.? And in fact, something is missing—the hose.?

Now, I don’t claim to be a vacuum expert, nor do I play one on TV, but even my housecleaning-impaired brain is pretty sure that since we do not own a Dyson (nor any other vacuum from the twenty-first century, for that matter) the hose is a crucial element to getting that particular appliance to work.?

So, I call hubby again—I seem to remember he and my son playing with something which, in retrospect, may have resembled a vacuum hose while in the kiddie pool on Saturday.

Double sigh.? So I ask my son where the vacuum hose is.? In fact, he does remember where he put it–on the floor of the garage.? Now, if this were your garage, maybe this is the point where you start jumping for joy, or singing “Whoomp, there it is!”, or whatever? ritual it is normal folks perform when they’ve located something in their garage,? knowing the hose would be in your vacuum-grasping hands at any moment.? But we’re talking our garage, where the word “normal” doesn’t even exist, home to a million pieces of junk, and that junk’s offspring.? And, of course, the occasional rat.

At any rate, I finally locate the vacuum hose.? It is, indeed, on the floor of the garage.? And I guess I can understand why hubby? couldn’t recall? seeing it.?

? Now, I think my son is amazing and gifted.? ? Really, I do.? But even I’m pretty sure that he didn’t heft up the pedal car, which I can barely lift, and? toss it right on top of the hose.? Nor, to the best of my knowledge,? did he suddenly grow about two feet and trade his training wheels in for an adult-sized ten-speed.? So, it begs the question—how did that hose get there?